The Morning After
by AliceSarina
Summary: A series of one-shots exploring the dynamic of the Mike/Fi relationship, and what they were thinking during some of their "morning-afters." Rated "T" to be safe, for sexual themes. Chapter 2 up!
1. No Breakfast This Time

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

Description: A series of one-shots exploring the dynamic of the Mike/Fi relationship, and what they were thinking during some of their "morning-afters." Rated "T" to be safe, for sexual themes.

A/N: I really enjoy the v. complex relationship that Fi and Mike share. Though I know their love life is not the center of Burn Notice, nor are their love scenes a prominent plot line, I think that those moments make for great character studies. I hope that by exploring their thoughts from afterwards, I will be able properly capture the ebb and flow of their relationship.

Michael's POV

It was the warmth from the sun that made me stir. I could sense that day had broken, though I did not open my eyes. I was half-awake and half-asleep, trying to grasp reality, nothing alarming my senses. I felt peaceful and relaxed, images of Fi, who often graced my dreams, floated though my conscience mind. I began to let myself float back into the sleep that gripped me, back to sweeter dreams, when I heard a soft moan.

My mind immediately snapped awake, and images of reality bombarded my mind. The house in flames. The feeling that my world was falling apart. The searching. The endless searching. I had been running on adrenaline, not letting my mind process what had happened. Pushing back the regret that tainted every thought. Pushing back the thought of her trapped, in terror. Pushing back images of her charred body.

But then she was alive. Living. Breathing. Whole. Just as beautiful and safe as when I had last seen her. I don't know what came over me. I just had to touch her. I had to make sure she was real. And when I knew she was, I can't describe what came over me. As a spy, I have been trained to not let emotion control me and to make sure every decision was calculated, logical, and rational.

But I had felt her soft skin in my wet hands. I had felt the warmth in her cheeks. I had looked into her green eyes, and I had melted. I had held back for way too long. And even in that moment, there was a part of my brain that was reminding me why I had held off. I needed to focus. I had a job, a duty to my country. This would only complicate my life.

In that moment, none of that had mattered. I had spent hours and days imagining this, longing for this, denying myself this. None of those reasons seemed to make sense any more.

She had let me take her. I had needed to touch every inch of her skin. She let me. I had held her so close, wrapped my arms around her. I felt like if I could somehow make sure there was no space between us, she would be safer. And as we lie there, panting, neither of us said a word. I fell asleep listening to her respirations and her heartbeat.

I smiled as I relived that part of the evening. I opened my eyes, and there she was, sprawled across my bed, covered by a sheet. She looked so peaceful, the sunlight from the window spilling over her. I was filled with a longing to protect her, and to touch her. I leaned over to kiss her cheek, and I thought better of it. I did not want to wake her. Instead I ran my fingers through the ends of her hair, and I buried my nose in it. It smelled just faintly like her flowery shampoo.

My stomach rumbled. I had nothing in the loft for breakfast, except for some yogurt. I decided to surprise Fi, and get her favorite breakfast. I wanted her to have something special. If I hurried, I could leave and come back before she woke up.

When you are a spy, you learn how to leave a room quietly. This skill is just as handy when you are stealing secrets from the Russian mafia as when you are trying to let your lover sleep a few more minutes. In almost perfect silence, I found some clothes, and I was out the door.

I decided to walk, since the cafe was just down the street. As I walked, I thought about the implications of last night. Fi would want to talk about what happened. She would want to know what it meant. For the first time in a while, the thought of having a talk with her made me smile. What did it all mean? I let my mind wander to a place where we were a psuedo-couple. We will never be the couple with a white picket fence and a Volvo, but we could be something more. We could spend our days doing jobs, and our nights, well, enjoying each other. Maybe for now, we could let go of everything, and just be together. We would talk. I wasn't sure about the semantics, but I knew one thing: last night I realized what really mattered to me.

With that thought, I picked up my pace a bit. I did not want her to wake up to an empty loft.

*******

Fi's POV

The realization that I wasn't in my own bed startled me awake. The sheets felt different, rougher. It smelled different, like cologne and sweat and the ocean. I was wearing, well, I was wearing nothing. I was at the loft. The events of the night before came rushing back to me.

Michael had come back from the bomber's house. He had been soaking wet. I had been waiting for hours at the loft. And when he came in, he kissed me. I felt a wave of conflicting emotions as I thought of his response to my supposed death. He had thought I was dead. He kissed me. He had taken me, and he hadn't let me go for hours.

Last night had been, wonderful. Being with him was so different than being with Campbell. Michael knew every thing I loved. Everything was familiar and easy and right. Sometimes Michael was passionate, and sometimes he was fierce, but last night he had been gentle and painstakingly slow. Like it was the last time he would ever hold me.

I can't say I hadn't wanted it. My desire for him was always bubbling just below the surface. I hate to admit it, but he could have me any time he wanted me. I was his. There would never be any man I loved more.

I can't say I didn't enjoy it. I enjoyed every minute of it. I found myself craving him and his touch. I felt a lead weight in my stomach at the thought. He wouldn't want me again. I sighed, a soft moan escaping my lips.

The noise made him stir. I kept my eyes closed. I wasn't quite sure what to say to him yet. I felt him lean in towards my face, and then felt him pull away, his warm breath grazing my cheek. That made the weight in my stomach feel even heavier. He was already emotionally distancing himself from me. He wouldn't even kiss my cheek. I felt a gentle tug on my scalp, he was running his fingers through my hair. But the intimacy of his touch just made me feel more confused.

I lay still, breathing steadily, listening to him move as he slowly sat up. He got out of bed, and I imagine he put on some clothes, though he was so quiet I could not hear him. The only indication that he had left was the soft whooshing of the loft door as he closed it. I wondered where he went. To a job maybe, though he hadn't gotten any phone call.

I sifted through my mind, figuring out the implications of last night's events. When he was gone, when the smell of his cologne and the sound of his breathing didn't fill the air, I felt like I could think clearly again.

I knew what would happen. We would eat breakfast, maybe spend the day together if he didn't get some urgent phone call. He would feel guilty maybe, say he would try to work things out with me, say he would do his best. But I know what would eventually happen. Everything would get all tainted again. Every day he was closer to getting his job back, it was his driving passion, his main desire. Last night I was the only thing on his mind, but today, and every other day I knew I wouldn't be.

I wanted to keep last night something beautiful. Maybe it was our last time, though the thought maybe me feel dizzy with fear. I had to be realistic. I had to be strong. He would be relieved when I was gone. It would be less messy for him, less messy for us both.

It was with a bleeding heart that I got out of the bed, let the sheet fall to the ground, and went to the kitchen to fetch my clothes. Flashes of memory filled my mind, as I saw my clothes lying on the floor, remembering the way he had hungrily pulled off each piece. It was with an entirely different mood that I pulled them back on, strengthening my resolve to let this go.

I locked the loft door behind me, and stepped into the sunshine, hoping the familiar brightness of the Miami morning would help me to pretend like last night had never happened.


	2. A Premeditated Act of Romance

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me!

A/N: These are in no particular order. Well, they are in the order I feel like writing them. I thought I would tackle this one next since it promised to be the most difficult, since both Mike and Fi are happy. It's not that I don't love them being happy, but it is difficult to make the story interesting without conflict. I am pretty content with the results, though. I really only have one more to write, although I would really appreciate suggestions that would not veer from canon. Anyways, without further ado, I submit to you the next chapter in The Morning After series.

Michael's POV

I wake up before sunrise. Gilroy will be calling soon, but right now that doesn't matter. I look at Fi, who is clutching my arm, fast asleep, with a satisfied smile on her face. A feeling of immense wonder rushes over me as my eyes explore the bronze curves of her body, as I listen to her soft breaths which are the only sound I can hear.

I look around the room, all the covers are rumpled at the foot of the bed, Fi's dress is like a puddle on the floor, the sniper rifle she had brought is still leaning on the night stand. I smile to myself, thinking about her rant last night, the angry precursor to an otherwise pleasurable evening. When I called her, asking her to meet me at the hotel, she had sounded very frustrated, but she was willing. Oh Fi, she was always willing to help me. She was always willing to sacrifice her time, her money, and even risk her life for me. Well, almost always.

It is with trepidation that thoughts of Fi's kidnapping and her brush with death fill my mind. And even before, her leaving Miami, her leaving me. Why do I always wait until she is almost gone to realize how much I really want her? How much I really need her? I resist the urge to pull her close to me, to wrap my arms around her, to listen to the precious beating of her heart. Instead I turn my attention the the window, the blinds had been pushed open by a carelessly tossed pillow. I can see the sky turning from a smokey blue to a bruised purple, and I think about how we ended up here.

As a spy you realize that death could come at any minute. You learn that there are some things worth dying for. Its strange though, that it took me so long to realize that loving Fi helped make my life worth living

From the moment she said she was leaving, all I wanted was to be with her. I wanted her to suggest we implode things. I wanted her to eat my yogurt. I wanted her to breath my name.

I thought about chasing her. I thought about begging her to stay. I thought about promising her the sun, the moon, and all the stars, if only she would stay with me. I even thought about sabotaging her plans. But I knew I had to let her go.

Fi has always been a fierce and passionate thing, a force of her own. It's why I feel in love with her. It's why I will never love a woman more. But it also means I could never stop her. It also means she would crush me if I tried.

I can't believe that now, a few weeks later, she is still here in Miami. Not only here, but in my bed. I wanted to kiss her so many times these past few weeks. I wanted to show her how much I needed her. But first she was still recovering, and then there was the whole "leaving me because she hated what I have become" thing. She couldn't go back to Ireland, but that didn't mean she still wanted me.

It was at my meeting with Gilroy that I knew I still had a chance with her. She asked me why we never got a hotel room for anything but surveillance. It reminded me of when I first came to Miami, when we first had rekindled our convoluted relationship. She was always wanting to pick oranges, sunbathe, and go to a nice hotel. And there she was complaining again, just like old times. Such a casual thing, so normal. But normally, Fi loved me, and it seemed that things were going back to normal. It was then that I decided to surprise her

I don't regret the decision at all. The memory of her reaction floats into my mind. My heart skips a beat as I remember the unmingled joy that had enveloped her when she realized why I had brought her to this hotel room. This simple act had made her face light up brighter than a thousand suns. How could she still love me so much after everything we've been through?

All of our other romantic liaisons in Miami had been spontaneous. I needed her to know that I had thought this through, a premeditated act of romance. This wasn't me needing to blow off steam or acting in a moment of desperation. This was my act of commitment. Or at least the closest thing a spy, who is nearly killed every other day, can come to commitment.

My desire for her had waned when Strickler entered the scene. I pushed her into the peripherals of my life, convinced that getting my job back was the only thing that mattered, the only thing that would really satisfy me. I really messed things up. Anger burned in my throat as I thought about the part he had played in Fi's peril. Rarely is Fi's advice to just shoot our problems away profitable, but this is one time that I should have listened.

The sky turned from bruised purple into a burst of grapefruit pink and fiery orange. Day was finally breaking.

As a spy you learn to always have a plan. You have plan A through plan F, and back-up plans too. And here I was lying with a beautiful woman sleeping peacefully next to me, and I had no plan. What happens if I get my job back? I push the though away from my head. There are no easy answers, and for now it doesn't matter. I just know that not being with her is no longer an option.

The shrill ring of the hotel room phone resounded in the comfortable silence, though my reflexes were quick and I pick it up after one ring. Gilroy. Another day, another opportunity to take down an evil force in the world; it is my life's purpose. And as I creep towards the hotel balcony, silently as possible, so that my lover could sleep peacefully, I am overwhelmed with gratitude that she will be fighting along side of me.

*******

Fi's POV

Wow. It was the last thought I'd had last night before I reluctantly surrendered to exhaustion. It's the first thought that fills my head this morning. I am holding his arm, I must have fallen asleep that way. The room is warm and smells like sweat. I flex a little, my body feels sore. I smile to myself. After last night, a few sore muscles are completely worth it.

I hear Michael breathing, but the not the gaspy way he does when he's asleep. I know I could pounce him, but I lie still. I want to revel in this moment. Last night I had not gotten much time to think. How had things gone from so wrong to so wonderfully right? Wow. Wow. Wow.

A few weeks ago I was packed up and ready to go back to Ireland. I was never going to see Michael, Sam, Madeline, or sunny Miami ever again. Michael didn't love me enough, loved his work too much, and was selling his soul to get his job back. That was the last straw. I realized we would never be together, that he had become someone very very different. With a shredded heart I had packed my life away and prepared to retreat. And now, here I am basking in the afterglow.

Since my barring from Ireland, I had resigned myself to a half life here. I would stay in Miami, because I loved him, because I needed him, and because my wretched attempt to leave him had failed more miserably than I could have ever anticipated. Flames of hope had been kindled in my heart by the fact that he had killed his "great hope" for me, that he

had gone half-insane trying to rescue me. But I didn't dare let my mind believe. I usually got burned by those flames of hope.

Sure, we had almost kissed once since my kidnapping, but Michael was always doing things like that. Doing things that crossed the lines of "just friends." This was different, something I could hold on to.

Last night I had been furious. Another bloody mission, and of course he wanted my help. Sure, I was willing to help him, my heart rarely allowed me to say "no" to him. But my help would not come cheap; he would have to suffer. He let me rant and rave. I had been so worried. I still am on some level, but I will leave worrying for another moment.

Since I have been in Miami, never has he shown he is quite so committed to me, to loving me. My heart fluttered with joy at the thought. He loves me. He wants me. And it wasn't just him acting in a moment of lusty weakness or need. He had weighed the pros and cons, thought through the risks and complexities of loving me, and still chose to love me. Made plans to surprise me. It was a premeditated act of romance.

A fresh wave of awe washes over me. His breathing, his body next to mine, the taste of his skin that still lingered on my tongue, these were reminders that all of this was real. A few weeks ago I been convinced that this would never happen again, that he would never look into my eyes with longing again.

This time, I won't try to berate him with questions. I won't try to force what we have into some sort of box titled "relationship." He loves me. And I love him. The implications, the ramifications, the complications that come later, we will deal with them when they come.

The ring of the phone echoing throughout the room distracts me from my thoughts. I feel Michael's arm tugged from my grip and I hear him get up, swiftly moving onto the balcony. As he moves he stirs up the smell of his cologne, and I am filled with longing for him.

All that matters is right now, and right now Michael is all mine. And there is no good reason why he should be on the phone, instead of kissing me. I sit up and pull a crumpled sheet around myself. A devious smile creeps across my face as I get out of bed, and step out onto the balcony to interrupt his phone call.

The sea air and morning sun invigorate me, as I wrap my arms around Michael. He is blathering on about business, giving no indication that he even realizes I am there. I tug him towards the bedroom, to let him know my intentions. He lets me pull him, his speech does not falter, but he delays his meeting and quickly finishes his call. I pull him back on to the bed so that I can ravage him again.


End file.
